


All I Want For Christmas

by great_skies1



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Christmas Fluff, During Canon, Hot Chocolate, M/M, POV Simon Snow, Pitch Manor (Simon Snow), Secret Holiday Gift, Sharing Clothes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, holidays with the grimm-pitches, sassy mordelia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_skies1/pseuds/great_skies1
Summary: It's Christmas morning at Pitch Manor, except the Humdrum hadn't attacked, and Simon and Baz get the chance to spend the holiday together as newly-declared boyfriends.A fic about what could have happened if they were just given more time.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 10
Kudos: 131
Collections: Winter Holiday Collection 2020





	All I Want For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starwarned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/gifts).



> This is my gift to [starwarned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned)! I hope you enjoy the fluffy goodness, and have a wonderful rest of your holiday. 
> 
> Thank you so much [gampyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gampyre/), for being an incredible beta. You've been amazing!

I wake up tangled in silky sheets, with the smell of cedar and bergamot filling my senses. The room is pitch dark, with thick velvet curtains drawn over every window. I have no idea what time it is, but I’m groggy and delirious and can hardly make out my own thoughts, so I’m pretty sure that I’ve had one of the deepest sleeps of my life.

I roll over soundlessly and let out a sigh. There’s a cool, thin body next to mine, with a mountain of dark hair sticking out in all directions. 

_ Baz. _

I can make out the shape of him, with his body curled up in a ball, facing me. I can’t quite see his facial features, but I can hear his steady breathing, and can imagine his calm and relaxed expression. 

I want to wake him up, so that I can cup his jaw, catch his lips, and trace my tongue over the roof of his mouth again. But I need to let him rest, given what he’s been through the past few days. He’s always really pleasant to watch in his sleep, anyway. When he can’t shoot me some snarky comment or angry look. When he’s at peace, and I don’t have to be ashamed to admire it from afar. I always thought it was fear that drove me to watch him obsessively. Maybe it was, at some points. But I’ve only just realized that recently, it’s been something completely different. What I almost felt with Agatha, I guess. I don’t know how in Merlin’s name I ended up here, staring at Baz for his undeniable beauty, and wanting to kiss him senseless. I’m pretty sure I’ve felt like this for a while, and have only discovered it now. It’s not like you can suddenly want to snog your arch-nemesis, or admire everything from the shape of his hands to the shine on his hair. These things don’t happen all at once. 

I’ve been such an oaf, too, chasing him around Watford with the Sword of Mages like he’s some kind of dark creature. Well, I guess he technically _i_ _ s _ a dark creature, but not the kind that would attack me. Or the kind that I should be sent out to kill. 

I hear Baz hold his breath, and I sense his body become perfectly still. After a few seconds, I feel him stirring, and his body turning away from mine. 

He turns on the lamp before facing me again. But he doesn’t lie back down. Just stares at me like I’m intruding, when he was the one who  _ asked  _ me to stay here. 

“What?” I say, leaning up against the headboard. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

I know he’s hesitating. Baz is never at a loss for words; he’s always got something to say. But he just stares now, with more confusion than his usual malice. 

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” he responds, with a voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. 

I just wrap my arms around him. I’ve always been rubbish at speaking. I wouldn’t be able to give him any comfort if I tried. Better to show him, than to stutter out something stupid. __

_ I’d never leave you. Not after what we’ve done. _

He hugs me back, with one hand pressed on the back of my shoulder and the other resting on the back of my neck. He gently runs his finger over my hairline there, where my curls are already starting to come through. I decide to put my hand on his stomach, as he seemed to enjoy that last night. I rub circles there, and feel him melt from the touch. I thought I liked it when I got in a good punch at him, or got a good strike at him with my sword. But Merlin, I like this so much better. 

We sink back under the covers, and I immediately go for his lips. His shyness disappears, and the eagerness from the night before comes right back. His hands are all over me—on my neck, in my hair, or on my chest. He’s sighing and smiling as I take control of the kiss, opening his mouth so I can explore inside. It’s as if he’s drowning—and I’m the only lifeline left. 

You’d think I’d get overheated, with his body on top of mine, and the silky sheets surrounding us. But Baz seems to absorb all of my warmth, while I enjoy the coolness of his skin. 

“Good morning,” he says, breaking away from the kiss. 

I lean in so that the tips of our noses touch. “Morning, Baz.” 

“Did you sleep alright? The kicking and turning was a tad alarming, you goblin.” 

I scoff. “You’re just angry that I stopped spooning you-”

“We weren’t  _ spooning,  _ Snow.” 

“You slept in my  _ arms. _ ” 

He kisses me again, getting me to properly shut up. It’s rare that I’m the one who gets the last word in, but I don’t make a comment about it. The way that he’s cupping my cheek is sending tiny electric pulses throughout my body, and I don’t have the strength to push him away.

I lose track of time and of my senses before we hear a knock on the door. 

“Who is that?” I ask. 

“It’s Vera,” he responds, completely monotone. “Who else would it be?” 

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

Baz gets out of bed, then puts on the velvety robe hanging on the bedpost. I don't know what else to do, so I also get up, before realizing that I’m shirtless. 

“What do I-”

“Put on one of my shirts from the closet.” 

I scramble into the walk-in closet, and grab the first thing I find. It’s some posh button-up that is a little tight around my shoulders. I still have most of it undone when Baz opens up the door. 

“Basilton!” yells a squeaky voice. 

Baz sighs. “Hello, Mordelia.” 

“Mother keeps trying to tell me Father Christmas is real.” 

“She just wants you to stop whining in front of the twins,” Baz responds. “But there is no use in telling me this information. Go downstairs and be a bother to her instead.” 

“The twins don’t care. She just thinks I’m thick,” Mordelia responds, stepping right past him. “Oh, hello Chosen One.” 

“Uh, hey,” I say awkwardly, not sure what to do with myself. 

“Will you be joining us for breakfast?” she asks, walking up to me. She has a pink dress on, with mousy brown braids that are coming completely undone. She might be really young, and only Baz’s half sister, but she’s got a spitting image of his menacing glare.

“I mean, I guess so.” I look over to Baz, who rolls his eyes. 

“Of course he’s staying. He’s our guest for the holidays. Now stop being such a pest, and get out.” 

“It’s Christmas, Basilton. You have to be nice,” she says, shifting her glare over to him.

“I thought you didn’t believe in Father Christmas or niceness,” Baz responds, picking her up. 

Mordelia lets out a squeal. “His lack of existence does not mean we should give up our morals!”

He carries her down the stairs, while she giggles and playfully screams. 

It’s strange to see Baz with his younger siblings. I always imagined that he’d be equally as cold and indifferent with them as he is with everybody else, but there are times when it doesn’t seem that way, especially if he is around Mordelia. He has a soft spot for her, I reckon. 

He comes back into the room and goes straight to the closet. 

“Do we have to go downstairs now?” I ask.

“We should,” he says, picking out some trousers and a dark grey suit jacket. “And this is what you’ll wear.” 

“You want me to just wear a suit jacket around your family?” 

He rolls his eyes again. “No, you idiot. Wear the shirt you have on underneath it.” 

He hands me the clothes and goes to pick out an outfit for himself. It’s a light blue suit with a flowery design on the shirt. On any other bloke (especially if that bloke were me), it would look pretty stupid, but not on Baz. He’d make it look glamorous. 

“I’ll...go change in the bathroom, I guess,” I say. 

He nods, then leads me to one of the bathrooms down the hall, while he goes into the other. I try to make myself look as presentable as possible, as I don’t know what will await me when I get downstairs. 

____

“The Humdrum hasn’t attacked so far this year, has he?” asks Baz’s step mum. 

We’re sitting at the table the same way we did last night, except there are a few more of Baz’s relatives (on the Grimm side) that I have never seen before. There are wreaths and bright red flowers adorning the table and the walls of the dining room, which I also hadn’t noticed before. Everything looks picture-perfect, from the decorations to the way people are dressed to the massive Christmas tree by the entryway of the living room. I never thought that Baz’s family would be up for celebrating such a cheery holiday. I always figured that they would be more interested in practicing dark magic than gathering around a tree and exchanging gifts. The thought of this being a ploy to get to me has crossed my mind (his bitch aunt Fiona hasn’t taken her eyes off me since I sat down), but I trust Baz now. He isn’t seducing me to win the last fight. (Does his family even know if he’s gay?) 

“He hasn’t, luckily,” I respond. “But the Mage is still prepared, just in case.” 

Daphne smiles politely, then takes a long sip of her coffee. She does that a lot. Ask questions she knows the answer to, so that she can fill the gaps of silence. 

“And he didn’t put you on boy soldier duties by making you come over here?” says Fiona, slamming her glass down. (It’s tinted, and I bet it contains booze.) 

“Fiona,” sneers Baz. “I invited him.” 

“I know,” she says condescendingly. “This is just mighty strange of you, Bazzy boy.” 

“He’s welcome here, Fiona. Don’t make a scene.” 

She shrugs, and goes back to just staring at me accusingly from across the table. Daphne changes the subject again, this time talking about how Vera has outdone herself again with this meal. We’re having the fluffiest eggs I’ve ever eaten, with warm, buttery scones that could closely compete with sour cherry ones at Watford. (I lost count at how many I’ve eaten so far.) (Baz rolls his eyes every time I reach for one, but still passes the basket to me anyways.) 

He hasn’t eaten much. I reckon he only had some orange juice and half a scone. I hope he can have something later, when we’re alone, so that I can see the way his fangs pop out, and the way he develops a slight lisp when he does. (Merlin, will we get any alone time today?)

It’s nice, being the only person he feels comfortable enough to eat around. I hope we can have more things like that—secrets that we only share with one another. 

The subject changes again, to something I don’t completely understand. Baz doesn’t seem to be paying much attention though, as I catch him staring right at me. I smile, and he grabs my hand under the table, and squeezes it lightly. 

—— 

“Do you like what Father Christmas brought you, Mordelia?” asks Malcolm. 

Mordelia is holding up a massive stuffed elephant, with a red bow tie around its neck. She seems delighted, but her face drops as soon as she hears the question. 

“I already told you and Mother. Father Christmas does not exist, and neither does God.” 

Both Daphne and Malcolm turn bright red, as everyone in the room turns to stare. Daphne tells her to be polite, while Malcolm stays on the couch and rubs one of his temples.

The living room of Pitch Manor looks like a scene straight out of a film. Everything is covered in tinsel or bows, and there’s a mountain of toys underneath their monstrous tree. Mordelia and the twins happily rip open their gifts while the adults stand around with drinks and engage in small talk. It’s overwhelming. I don’t know what my place is in all of this, or how to act with another family on Christmas. The holidays with the Wellbeloves were similar, but my role was easily defined. I was Agatha’s boyfriend, and the kid who would one day join the family. I guess I am now technically Baz’s boyfriend, but his family would probably put my head on a stick if they knew. 

I don’t like being purposeless. Or having everyone tiptoe around me, while I have to stay wary of them. Every person I’ve talked with either completely ignores me and only acknowledges Baz (who hasn’t let me speak to anyone alone, thank Merlin) or shoots me rapidfire questions, trying to get me caught in a lie. (If I were trying to attack, they would know already. I’m no good at being subtle.) 

I give up after a while, and just opt to stand by myself, right beside one of the massive pillars next to the fireplace. It wouldn’t be fair to keep Baz from his family, so I wait until Baz has shaken the hand of every person in the room (even some of the children) before I walk up to him and ask how much longer everyone will stay here. By then, people have migrated all throughout the house, the Christmas tree long forgotten. Baz smirks, and says that he needs to “grab something,” and that I should join him “to keep the peace” (not sure how sarcastic that comment was), so I follow him like a lost puppy up the stairs and through the door of his massive bedroom. 

“Wait here.” 

He disappears down the stairs before I have time to turn around. His room feels even more massive when you’re alone in it. It’s twice the size of our suite at Watford, which is comparable to a football field, if you exclude the bed. The rest of the dark, Victorian-style furniture fills the overly large space, but just makes it seem even more outlandish, considering that Baz has slept here since he was a child. 

I sit down on the couch where I slept that first night here. I felt so safe, falling asleep to the sounds of his breathing. It was even more reassuring, when he slept in my arms. 

Baz walks in with two hot chocolates in his hands, and plops down right beside me. I can’t help the massive grin that appears on my face. 

“Did anyone notice you?” I ask. 

“They don’t care. The children have their toys, and the adults have had their necessary greetings. I won’t be needed until dinner.” 

He hands me one of the mugs, and I jump at the feeling of his cold hand. He chastises me for it, claiming that I’ll stain his rug, but lets me grab hold of the handle anyways. 

I rest my head on his shoulder, after taking a few sips. It seems to catch Baz off guard, but he still leans into my touch. I know it is because he’s still so used to fighting, and he still worries that he needs to keep his guard up. I don’t want any of that anymore. The battle, the bloodshed or the victory. I want  _ him.  _

“I’m sorry they were cold to you,” Baz whispers. 

“They weren’t that bad,” I comment, taking another sip. “Your step-mum was wonderful. It’s not like I’d expect them to act differently, anyways.” 

“Since we’re an Old Family with dirty money and even dirtier secrets?” He says, staring down at his mug. 

“No,” I respond. “Since we’ve spent the last seven years trying to kill each other, and we’ve both only seen each other as the enemy.” 

“That’s precisely why we can’t mess around around being  _ happy boyfriends,”  _ Baz exclaims, turning his body away from mine. 

“I never said it has to  _ stay _ that way,” I respond, cupping his jaw with my right hand. 

“It won’t work, Simon. You’re destined to kill me.” 

“The prophecy doesn’t say that. Saving the day doesn’t mean I have to hurt you. Who says my happy ending doesn’t have you in it?”

I try to get him to turn back to me. He doesn’t budge. 

“This is just too good to be true.  _ You’re  _ just too good to be true.” 

He turns back to me and places a hand on top of mine. I can see the tips of his fangs popping out of his lips, which I find wickedly adorable. I would tell him, but this just isn’t the time. 

“We can figure this out, Baz. I haven’t failed a mission yet, have I?” 

“You’ve narrowly escaped death through every one of your endeavours. That doesn’t instill much hope.” 

He smiles. I can tell he’s tentative, but he’s  _ smiling.  _

“We’re going to find justice for your mum, and we won’t have to kill each other when all of this is over. I promise.” 

He places his mug down on the side table, and gently tugs me by the collar to his lips. It’s tentative and soft and so, so  _ good _ , so I sigh and let him take the lead. 

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he whispers under his breath, more to himself than me. 

“I didn’t know that I wanted this,” I admit, also in a hushed tone. “But I do. I really, really do.” 

Baz’s kisses travel to my jaw bone, and then lower to the mole on my neck. I let out an involuntary shiver, and he gets up immediately, leaving me in a bit of shock. 

“One second.” 

He turns on the fireplace, which sends a wave of warmth throughout my body. The thickness of my coat jacket becomes shockingly apparent, so I take it off and place it carefully on a nearby chair. I can feel Baz’s eyes travelling down my torso, and it gives me a boost of confidence, so I grab his shoulders as soon as he sits back down. 

“You did it again, you know.” I say.

“Did what?” 

He’s playing dumb. He can’t even admit to calling me by my first name, the bastard. 

“You called me Simon,” I say through a massive grin. 

“You misheard me,  _ Snow.”  _

“Nope.” 

I lean in and catch his lips again. I’ve managed to get the last word in twice today, and I have no intention of losing the streak. I’m finding it hard to stop, anyways. It’s just so easy with Baz, to get caught up in kissing him, or touching him, or even arguing pettily. I’m still shocked that it’s taken me this long to realize why. 

He pulls away from me tentatively. With the light of the fire on his face, I realize how tired and drained he looks. The past few days have been hell for him, and they’re only going to get worse. I lean back on one of the arm rests so that he can bury his head in my neck and I can gently run my fingers through his hair. 

I’m going to keep my promise. I swear on every star and magickal spell that I will save the day for Baz Pitch. 

Right when I think he’s fallen asleep, I hear a soft whisper, barely audible from the cracklings of the fire, and the steadiness of both of our breaths. 

“Happy Christmas, Simon.” 

I smile. “Happy Christmas, Baz.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Tumblr](https://great-skies1.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
